Soap was in the middle of an intense discussion with Price, his hands gesturing wildly as he described the details of their next mission. You stood a few feet away, pretending to review some maps, but really, your mind was scheming. It was your turn for a prank, and after weeks of plotting, you still hadn’t settled on the perfect plan. Then, the most juvenile, impulsive idea hit you like a bolt of inspiration.

You slowly approached Soap from behind, trying to keep your footsteps silent. He was so deep into his conversation that he didn’t notice you creeping closer. His broad back was turned, his focus entirely on Price, who looked like he was barely keeping a straight face listening to Soap's animated storytelling.

Then, without any further hesitation, you did it.

Smack!

Your hand made perfect contact with Soap’s butt. The loud thwack echoed through the room, instantly cutting off his sentence. Time seemed to freeze for a second. Soap stiffened, eyes widening as the unexpected slap registered in his brain. Price’s eyebrows shot up, trying — and failing — to hold back a laugh.

Soap whirled around, his eyes locking onto you in disbelief. “Did ye just…slap my arse?!” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, part indignation, part confusion.

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying not to laugh, “Just checking if your muscles are still in top shape, MacTavish. Gotta make sure you’re combat-ready.”

Price was done for. He doubled over, laughing so hard you thought he might choke. Soap, however, stood there in shock for another second before his face morphed into that mischievous grin you knew all too well.

“Oh, ye’ve done it now,” he growled, cracking his knuckles. "Ye think ye can get away with that?"